


The Reaping

by scruffydeanwinchester



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scruffydeanwinchester/pseuds/scruffydeanwinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaping day in District 12. AU Supernatural/Hunger Games crossover. Sam and Dean on reaping day.</p><p> </p><p>written by: <a href="http://scruffydeanwinchester.tumblr.com">scruffydeanwinchester</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mini-fic based on a bunch of people on tumblr posting about wanting a Supernatural/Hunger Games reaping crossover. Please read and review. Let me know what you think!

                It’s reaping day. Dean is awoken by Sam, who’s clutching his arm under the blanket and crying in his sleep. Dean looks over to his father’s bed, where his dad is sound asleep. He shakes Sam awake and rubs the hair out of his eyes.

                “It’s okay, Sammy, wake up. It’s okay.”

                Sam wakes up slowly, shaking his way out of his nightmare. Tears roll down his cheeks as he looks up at Dean.

                “They picked me, Dean,” Sam chokes out between sobs. His fingers dig deeper into Dean’s upper arm.

                “Hey, Sammy, it’s alright. They’re not gonna pick you. I promise,” Dean reassures him. “Go back to sleep.”

                Sam lays his head back down on the pillow and turns over onto his side. Dean pulls the blanket up to Sam’s ears and tucks it in around him. Then he climbs out of the bed they share and walks over to the small fireplace. Stooping, he stokes the embers and adds another log. Then he slings his jacket over his shoulder and leaves through the back door of the little shack they call home.

 

                When Dean comes back Sam is sitting at the small table, hand wrapped around a jar of water. Dean sets the loaf of bread from the bakery on the table with a dull thud.

                “It’s from yesterday so it’s not too stale,” Dean says, pulling his knife from his boot and cutting Sam a slice. Getting bread that was only a day old was a treat around District 12.

                “Thanks Dean.” Sam says, digging in to the chunk of bread with enthusiasm.

                “You better get ready, Dean. We have to leave in a few minutes,” John says, leaning over a bucket of water to shave his face with a knife. The boy’s mother had died long ago, when Sam was just a baby. Their father, John, worked long hours in the mines, so Dean had practically raised Sam on his own.

                “Sure.” Dean cut himself a hunk of bread and stuffed it in his mouth before getting his change of clothes from the box under his bed.

 

                They stand in the square in rows, by age. Boys on the left, girls on the right. Youngest to oldest from front to back. Dean can see Sam standing with other 12 year olds 4 rows ahead of him. He can tell just by looking at the back of Sam’s head that the boy is frozen with nerves. He sends out a silent prayer for his brother to be alright, to be safe, not to be chosen. Any name but Sam Winchester to be called from the bowl.

                The ridiculously dressed woman from the Capitol gives the same boring speech she gave last year, and the year before. Dean stopped listening to her years ago. The same video plays on the giant screens. Dean stopped watching that too. Although he would never say it out loud, he thinks the whole thing is bullshit. It’s all just an act to cover up the murder of children every year.

                However, Dean starts to listen intently as the Capitol woman shimmies across the stage in her horrible shoes to the girl’s bowl. It’s always “Ladies First” with this woman. Dean recognizes the name she calls out.

                “Penelope Everitt.” Penny is a year younger than Dean, and cute. Her soft blonde hair, which she usually wears loose and curly, is braided in a tight pleat down her back. She sobs openly as the guards come to escort her to the stage. The Capitol bimbo tries to hug the girl, but Penny just weeps with her face in her hands.

                “Alright, now for the boys.” She skitters across the stage to the second bowl. Dramatically sweeping her hand around the bottom for what seems like a lifetime to Dean, she finally extracts a little slip of white paper. Shuffling back to the microphone, she pauses for attention, and then unfolds the slip of paper.

                “Samuel Winchester.”

               

                Dean isn’t sure if he imagines the ringing in his ears. Over and over he hears the foul woman speak his brother’s name. He doesn’t notice anyone around him as he watches his brother start making his way toward the stage, flanked on either side by a Capitol guard. Dean doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate for a second as he runs out to the center aisle. Guards are instantly on him, holding him back as he fights to get to his brother.

               "Dean?" Sam turns at the commotion and stares at his brother. Dean can see the tracks the tears have left in the dirt on his cheeks. All Dean can think of is his baby brother, cradled in his arms when he was 6 months old, playing at his feet when he was two, holding his hand on the way to his first day at school.

                “I volunteer!”


	2. Chapter 2

            Dean sits on the faded blue sofa, fingering a hole in the upholstery. He’s determined not to cry, not to show Sam and his father how scared and weak he really feels. His brows knit in fury as he waits for them to come and say goodbye. The hole grows wider under his fingers as he pulls and rips at the fabric.

            Minutes later, the heavy wooden door creaks open. Sam runs in, wrapping his arms around Dean and knocking them both back against the couch.

            “Hey Sammy. You’re crushing me,” Dean laughs out. Sam untangles himself from around Dean and sits next to him. Dean’s arm automatically wraps around his brother’s shoulder, and Dean squeezes Sam against his side.

            “Promise me you’ll win, Dean. You have to win,” Sam pleads, looking up at his brother with tears in his eyes.

            “Of course I’m gonna win, Sammy. I’m the toughest son-of-a-bitch there is,” Dean tells him, knocking Sam lightly on the back of his head. “Plus, you know I’m not gonna leave you here with just Dad for company.”

            John huffs out a laugh and comes to stand in front of Dean. He bends and wraps Dean in a hug, lifting him from the couch to his feet.

            “I’ve never been more proud of you than I am today, Dean. You’re always protecting Sammy. You make sure you protect yourself in there. And come home to us,” John adds, his voice scratchy and rough with emotion.

            “I will Dad,” Dean whispers, fighting back tears of his own.

            “I love you, Dean,” John says, stepping back but holding Dean at arm’s length. He smiles at his eldest son.

            “Love you too, Dad.” Dean smiles at his Dad before turning to Sam.

            “Don’t cry Sammy. I’ll be back soon,” Dean tells him, wrapping his arms around Sam once more. “I love you, Sammy. I’m not gonna leave you.”

            Sam nods, sniffling and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Two loud raps against the door make Sam jump, and then he starts sobbing again and wraps his arms tighter around Dean’s abdomen.

            “Okay I gotta go, Sammy. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

           

 

 

            Dean and Penny sit across from each other at the large table in the dining car of the train. Neither one of them makes eye contact, Penny stares at her hands folded in her lap.  Food of all sorts is laid out in front of them by various capitol servants, but neither of them touches a thing. Penny hasn’t spoken a word to Dean since they got on the train hours ago, and he hasn’t tried making conversation either. Dean twirls a butter knife between his fingers, watching the way the light reflects off the shiny silver surface. He’s never seen real silver in person before, and he suspects there is a lot of things on this train that he would never have seen in District 12.

            A door whooshes open and in walks their mentor. He’s a young, blonde man, who goes by the name of Haymitch. He’s known around the district as a drunk, but Dean’s father told him that after Haymitch won the games, the Capitol killed his mother and brother. Dean feels nothing but sympathy for the man, and respect for his mentor’s ability to function after such a loss. Even if he’s only functioning long enough to get plastered.

            Haymitch plops down in the chair between Dean and Penny, at the head of the table. Pulling a dented metal flask from inside his jacket, he pours a large helping of clear liquid into a crystal champagne flute. Judging from the cloud of fumes that invades Dean’s nostrils, he guesses that it’s liquor. Haymitch gulps it down in one swallow, then sets the glass down, looking at each tribute in turn.

            “Hey kiddos. How’s it hanging?” he asks, flipping his long blonde hair out of his eyes.

            “How do you think it’s going?” Dean replies, glaring at the man and slamming the butter knife down on the table. “This is bullshit. Aren’t you supposed to help us? You’re drunk.”

            “Just because I’m drunk, kid, doesn’t mean I can’t be useful,” is Haymitch’s reply.

            “Whatever. My name is Dean, not kid.”

            “Alright, Dean, cool it. Save all that anger for the arena,” Haymitch adds, then turns to look at Penny.    “Penny, right?”

            The girl nods, still not making eye contact.

            “Well then, first things first, Dean and Penny. We’re gonna be in the capitol tomorrow, and that’s when the show starts. As soon as we pull into the station the cameras are going to be on you both. So I want smiles, waving, the whole gambit.”

            “Why?” Dean asks. “I’m not happy to be here, and I’m guessing she’s not either.”

            “You want sponsors? You have to make people like you. They’re not going to send you gifts in the arena if  you act like a little shit.”

            “Alright fine. Smiles and waving. Then what?”

            “Then we go to the Training Center, where you get all prettied up for the big show,” Haymitch replies, pouring himself another tall glass of liquor.

            “Great.” Dean stands from the table and leaves the dining car in search of his room and a shower. If he’s going to be stuck here, he might as well use the hot water while it’s available. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to review, comment, critique. Anything would be welcome and I'd be eternally grateful!


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